Beauty
by deanna-warbler
Summary: AU: Blaine Anderson is quite literally the most popular kid at William McKinley High School. He's got the looks, the girl, the personality, but all of that's about to change. Rated M for some language and future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**So here's the first chapter of Beauty! It's kind of short, but if I get postive feedback, I have the second chapter written already, and I can publish that tonight maybe? **

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><p>Blaine Anderson. He was quite literally the most popular student at McKinley High. He <em>owned<em> that school like it was his palace. He was the type of guy that everyone wanted to be and every girl wanted to date. It sounds cliché, but you could ask nearly everyone in that school, even teachers, and they'd have something good to say.

"Blaine, don't sweat it, you're gonna win," his best friend, Sam Evans, said from his usual seat next to Blaine in the cafeteria. It was homecoming week, and Blaine was (yet again) nominated for homecoming king.

"You've got it in the bag, babe. And I'll be your queen," his girlfriend, Quinn Fabray smirked, snaking her arm around his slender waist and kissing his cheek. Blaine smiled devilishly, as if an idea popped into his head at the moment.

"Sam, get the sound system from the closet," he demanded, staring Sam down until he left the table. He entwined his fingers with Quinn's under the table and placed a peck on her lips. "Nothing to worry about," he said against her lips. Her lips formed a devil-like smile and went back to her tray with half-eaten food. She tossed her short blonde hair over her shoulder just as Sam walked back into the cafeteria. Sam cocked his head, the signal to Blaine saying that he was about to hook up the sound system. He released himself from Quinn's grasp to walk over to him. Once everything was set up, he jumped onto a occupied table and grabbed the microphone from his friend.

"What up McKinleyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" he shouted. Most of the cafeteria erupted into applause, all eyes on Blaine. He looked around the cafeteria for a moment, taking in all of the eyes on him. Except for one pair. There was a boy, whom he'd seen around, but mostly because some of Blaine's cohorts threw him into dumpsters or dumped cold slushies on him. What was his name? Hummel? That didn't matter. He was buried in a book, not even looking up at Blaine, as if he didn't even notice. His legs were crossed in his black jeans with white boots, and Blaine pondered for a moment how pants could even be that _tight_.

"So, as you all should know, yours truly is nominated for homecoming king and my girlfriend Quinn Fabray is nominated for queen," Blaine smiled, looking around at everyone proudly, "And we just wanted to make sure you mark Anderson-Fabray tomorrow when royalty is determined." He noticed Quinn beaming from their table, and he winked in return. After a second or two of silence, the entire cafeteria burst out into applause. Applause was what Blaine's huge ego thrived on. His grin was bigger than ever as he stepped down from the table and met Quinn near their table, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other tangled in her short, golden hair. He noticed the boy again, still reading his book, lips pursed. It's like he didn't even care.

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><p>"You're<em> definitely<em> winning now. Both of you," Sam reassured the couple as they walked out of the cafeteria, fingers entwined.

"I hope so," Quinn beamed, patting her and her boyfriend's hands reassuringly. They heard the click of shoes behind them, walking faster and faster.

"Blaine Anderson, you are an asshole," the voice said, stopping in front of the three. It was Rachel Berry, one of the least-liked students enrolled at McKinley. Blaine snorted.

"Am I now?" he said, unlinking his fingers from Quinn and stepping forward. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her with his golden eyes.

"Yes, yes you are. And eventually, it's going to catch up with you," she retorted, looking up at him. He towered over her, not that much, but he felt even more in power.

"Listen, Berry, I don't know what gave you the right-" Quinn started, her voice dripping with anger.

"I speak on behalf of most of this school," Rachel continued. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, mocking Quinn in one way or another.

"I can't believe I'm actually _talking_ to you right now, let alone standing this close to you," Blaine scoffed, backing away from Rachel slowly. He linked his fingers with Quinn again and turned around slowly, walking away from Rachel.

"It'll catch up with you, trust me!" she called. Blaine let out a small "pft" and tried to ignore what had just happened.

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><p><strong>Okay, yeah, it may be kind of boring now, and this was super short, but it's only the first chapter. The second chapter is a lot better, trust me.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter is a lot longer than chapter one, and it ends with a little cliffhanger. Enjoyyyyy :)**

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><p>"I asked for a<em> purple <em>flower," Blaine argued with the florist the next day. The homecoming dance was tonight, king and queen would be announced tonight, etcetera, etcetera. He was picking up Quinn's corsage for that night, and of course, the florist had to mess it up. She didn't speak a lick of English, and frustrated, Blaine ripped the box from her hands, threw a few bills on the counter, and stormed out of the shop. _"Quinn's gonna be pissed," _he thought, tossing the yellow rose in the passenger seat of his car. Before opening up the driver's seat door, he noticed that boy from the cafeteria walking hurriedly towards a car, clutching a bag from the dry cleaners. Probably for the dance later that night. Blaine hadn't seen him hang out with anyone, so who could he possibly go with? Unless he was going alone? Rumor was that this kid was gay, so maybe he had a boyfriend that went to another school? Not that Blaine cared. He climbed into his car and shoved the keys into the ignition.

"_You are an asshole,"_ he heard. Blaine blinked twice, his eyelashes getting stuck together. He shook his head and flipped through the radio stations, trying to get his mind off of the voice he was hearing. It worked, but for a short while. He didn't hear it again, but the words burned into his brain, refusing to leave. He pulled into his driveway and rested his head on the steering wheel, stopping to think. Since when did Blaine Anderson care what _Rachel Berry_ thought? She was the lowest of the low, and he had gotten lots of insults like that before, usually brushing them off. Why did hers stick? Blaine took the flower from the passenger's seat, glanced at the clock, and climbed out of the driver's side. 3:00 PM. An hour and a half until he was supposed to meet Quinn at the Fabray's house, two hours until their dinner reservation at Breadstix. Maybe a shower would clear his head. _Hopefully_ a shower would clear his head.

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><p>"It's...yellow," Quinn sighed, looking at the corsage. She had Blaine's boutonniere in her hand, a purple orchid, which matched her dress. Blaine wore all black: black pants, black dress shoes, black dress shirt, and a thin black tie. His hair was gelled down, as usual, to keep his wild curls tame.<p>

"The florist messed up, not me," Blaine said quickly.

"I can't wear it. It doesn't match," she pouted, placing Blaine's boutonniere on her granite countertop.

"Then what are we supposed to do?" his voice rose.

"I'm not wearing that monstrosity."

Blaine rolled his eyes. Quinn was always so picky, with everything. He actually really despised that about her, and he felt like he shouldn't. "Fine," he said, tossing the plastic box onto the counter, along with Quinn's boutonniere. "Let's go."

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><p>The couple arrived at Breadstix, receiving a lot of smiles and compliments on how cute they looked together. Quinn's smile grew bigger and bigger at each compliment they received, while Blaine's ego rejected them. He felt limp, lifeless. He <em>never<em> had felt like this in his entire life. He scanned the restaurant after they had sat down, his eyes landing on that boy from before. He wore tight black pants, like the other day in the cafeteria, a black vest, white button down, and thin black tie. He sipped from a glass of ice tea as he chatted with Mike Chang and his girlfriend.

"I'm excited for tonight," Quinn purred from across the table. Blaine snapped away from looking at the boy and smiled warmly at his girlfriend.

"Me too," he grinned, reaching across the table for her hand. His thumb rubbed the side of her fingers as she sighed, a smile creeping onto her lips.

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><p>It was an hour into the dance. Quinn was being her normal, picky, bitchy self, and Blaine should be able to tolerate it by now, but he couldn't.<p>

"What's wrong with you?" she screamed over the blasting music. Blaine sighed and stared at the floor.

"I don't know," he murmured.

"Get your shit together, Blaine," she scoffed, stomping off towards a group of Cheerios grinding on some football players. He wanted to chase after her, but he figured he'd be better off alone without her for a little while.

"Blaine Anderson and Quinn 'perfect' Fabray actually squabble?" a voice chirped up. Blaine whirled around. It was the tight black pants wearing boy.

"What's it to you?" Blaine retorted. The boy propped his chin up onto his elbows, his bright blue eyes sparkling in the dark.

"Oh, nothing. Just a little shocked is all," he sighed, blinking a few times, "You've never even talked to me before. This is kind of weird."

"Why should I talk to some gay kid who prances around school sprinkling fairy dust everywhere?" Blaine said, tightening his tie. The boy seemed unscathed by the insult.

"I'm Kurt by the way. Kurt Hummel." Blaine squinted at Kurt, brows knitting together.

"And you know who I am," Blaine replied smoothly, smoothing out his shirt.

"You don't seem happy with her. Quinn."

"_That's because I'm not,"_ Blaine thought, "Listen, just forget this conversation ever happened. I'll...see you around."

"Whatever you say, Blaine Anderson."

Blaine liked the way Kurt said his name. It sounded soft and sweet, unlike when Quinn said it. He walked away, only to bump into none other than...Rachel.

"Watch where you're going, manhands," he sneered, backing away from Rachel like she had some type of disease.

"Like I said the other day-"

"No, I don't care what you said the other day. And no matter what happens to me, I'll still be ahead of you on the food chain. And you can't do anything about it," Blaine said, cutting her off. It felt good, and he suddenly didn't feel so tired and lifeless anymore.

"Oh, you're gonna get it," she shrieked, stomping closer to him. The lifelessness fell over him again, but luckily, one of Rachel's friends grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her away. Quinn reappeared by Blaine's side within an instant.

"What was that about?" she asked quizzically. Blaine opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "Doesn't matter, they're going to announce king and queen soon," Quinn smiled, taking his hand and leading him towards the stage with the DJ.

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><p>Next thing Blaine knew, he was slow dancing with Quinn in the middle of the gym floor, a crown on his head and a tiara on hers. She looked beautiful, he had to admit, but he couldn't stop thinking about Kurt. The thought of Kurt made Blaine's mind rush, but then he thought of what Rachel said, and it made his stomach bubble. What did she mean by "get it"? He grew dizzy, and he could tell that Quinn knew something was up.<p>

"You okay?" she nuzzled into his neck. He moaned, but not of pleasure, but of pain. She couldn't tell the difference, so she buried her face deeper into his collar.

"No, Quinn, stop," he said, backing away from her. She looked confused, but also really infuriated, at the same time. He ran out of the gym, feeling sick to his stomach. He had managed to find his car in the parking lot outside, grabbed the keys from his pocket, fumbled to stick them into the ignition, and drive home. He didn't care that he was leaving Quinn behind after they had just won homecoming king and queen. He needed to be alone.

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><p>"Jesus," Blaine exhaled as he placed his head on the cool countertop in his kitchen. He glanced up at the back sliding door, noticing that the curtains were flung open and the door was wide open. Stumbling, he headed over to the door, noticing someone on his porch.<p>

"Listen, I'm not in the-" he started. The figure turned around. It was..._Rachel_.

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><p><strong>Next chapter will be up within the next few days!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**So, I was going to update Thursday, but I never did. I figured I'd post what I have today and have chapter 4 up Monday!**

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><p>"Rachel? What the-"<p>

"You know why you've been feeling sick lately?" she said. She sounded...different. She didn't look like the Rachel Berry who called him an asshole the other day in the hallway. She wore a long, white, flowing dress with a slit that started just below her hip. Her hair was gently curled, and those atrocious bangs were gone. Her lips looked kissable and full; Blaine had to admit that she looked pretty sexy.

"How'd you-?" Blaine started. Then it hit him like a stack of bricks. He started feeling like this ever since Rachel confronted him the other day. He plopped down in a deck chair and buried his face in his hands.

"You've been like this for far too long, don't you think you need a change?" she purred. She even _sounded_ sexy. Blaine didn't want to look at her, in case she was like, Medusa or something.

"I'm fine just the way I am, thank you."

"No you're not," she said again, her heels clicking on the cobblestone deck, "You have one year to find someone who loves you, and you have to love them just as much back."

"What?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"You heard me. And oh, you might look a little different when you look in a mirror."

Then she disappeared. Blaine bolted back inside the house, not feeling lifeless anymore, just weak. He scrambled to find the nearest bathroom, and once he found one, he was confused as to what he was looking at in the mirror. His dark, gelled hair had turned into a light brown colored afro, an afro so big that no type of hair gel could ever tame it. His olive colored skin had become pasty and covered in acne, his chin and cheeks prickly with stubble. His clothes felt loose, like he had lost all of his muscle. The golden eyes that he always got compliments on turned color into a dark brown, almost black. And last but not least, his teeth. The pearly, straight teeth that took years of dental work and orthodontistry were now yellow and crooked as could be.

"Leave," a familiar voice behind him said. Blaine whipped around and came face to face with his father, who stood in the bathroom doorway, scowling.

"Dad, no, nonono, please, it's just me. Blaine," he pleaded.

"No son of mine looks like that. Who. Are. You."

"I already told you who I am! I can prove it! The spot on the back of my neck-" he started, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt. His father backed away as Blaine stepped closer. Tears welled in his son's eyes as he left, presumably to go back to his bedroom. Blaine broke out into quiet sobs over the sink, trying to remember the last time he had cried. He didn't know whether to be scared or angry. Rachel Berry had turned him into one of _them_, although moments ago, she didn't look anything near what she normally did. It was all a lie. He looked up into the mirror. There was no way he could go to school like this. Not Monday, not ever. How long did Rachel say he had? A year? October to October. Maybe he could clean himself up and he'd be back to normal. Grabbing the electric razor from the side of the sink, he attacked his chin, but it didn't work. He tried again. Nothing. Not anything at all.

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><p>The morning came, and Blaine found himself sprawled on one of the couches in his living room. He touched his hair, making sure everything that happened during the night wasn't a dream. The 'fro was still there, every last curl. His arms felt like huge noodles, which he hadn't noticed last night. Snarling, he rolled off of the couch, wondering if his dad was home, or if he left to go somewhere. Mr. Anderson's bedroom was empty, the bed neatly made, looking as if nobody had even slept in it. The office where his father spent most of his time was spotless. Books that had once lined the shelves were gone. Pictures in frames of Blaine and his older brother, Cooper, were packed away. Blaine rushed to the phone that was perched on the edge of the desk, pressing the button for the last redialed number. It was Quinn's house number, and not long after that, he discovered a sticky-note with a scrawled address on it. He slumped over to the red velvet couch by the window and pulled his knees up to his chest.<p>

"He actually left," he said out loud. Well, he didn't blame his father. Why would you want to stay in a house where you questioned if the other person living there was your son?

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><p>The attic. I wasn't really an attic, per say, but a huge room at the top of the Anderson residence, with creaky floorboards and lots of mothballs. Blaine used to climb up here when he was younger, and it was his secret place. None of his friends—not even Quinn—knew about it. He loved staring out the huge half circle paned window, looking down at the houses on the street. He wouldn't have guessed that he'd be back up here, but whenever he needed to sit and think things through, this is where he'd go. Blaine needed a plan. To find Quinn. To have someone fall in love with him; to have himself fall in love with that same person just as much. That's when he figured out that Quinn wasn't an option. She "loved" him, but only for his looks, money, and social status. She definitely wouldn't even look at him now. Blaine always told her that he loved her, but he didn't. The kisses didn't mean much, neither did the sex. He felt <em>obligated <em>to date her. He never loved her. He never even liked her.

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><p><strong>It's a filler chapter, yeah, but chapter 4 is more so the KurtBlaine, as it should be :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, I actually updated on time! This chapter is longer, but there's the Klaine in it. Next chapter will be up by Thursday/Friday :)**

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><p>The Lima Bean, approximately 2:30 PM. Quinn always came here after school to meet up with some of her friends to work on homework. Blaine sat in the corner, a plate of biscotti and a copy of the local newspaper in front of him. He had an old, tan jacket from Goodwill wrapped around him, the hood crushing his hair. He wanted to see how Quinn was acting without Blaine with her. She entered with Sam Evans, of all people, flipping her hair and walking towards a table near Blaine. It felt weird not having Quinn dangle Blaine on her arm like a cheap keychain on a key ring.<p>

"_Okay, this isn't unusual," _Blaine thought as they got closer to him. He pretended to flip through the newspaper as Quinn shot him a look. The blondes exchanged a few words and pecked each other lightly on the lips before sitting down. Blaine ripped the corner of the paper he was pretending to read in shock, listening in as best as he could to their conversation.

"I feel bad for doing this," Sam confessed, "He's my best friend."

"Well, your best friend is in rehab," she said strongly. Rehab? Was that the information scrawled on the post-it note in his father's office? Mr. Anderson probably called the Fabrays with some elaborate lie that his son was thrown in to a rehabilitation facility.

"For six months," Sam added, looking down at his hands on the table, "What's gonna happen then?"

"He doesn't have to know."

Blaine got up from the table in a hurry, bumping into someone on the way out the glass doors. He met the blue-eyed gaze.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

It was Kurt. He had on a black vest, tight pants, and a white collared shirt. He caught his own blue and red strapped backpack before it hit the floor after the collision. Blaine didn't say anything in return; his eyes simply locked on the other boy's, his throat growing dry as he tightened the hood on his jacket, continuing out the door.

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><p>"One month today," Blaine sighed, marking off November 7th on the calendar kept on the Anderson, her, <em>his <em>refrigerator. He barely left the house unless it was to spy on Quinn and Sam or pick up something quickly at the grocery store. There were also the nights (like tonight) where he'd people watch at the Lima Apartment Complex for his own entertainment. Warming himself up a little bit with the thermos of hot chocolate before stepping outside, he walked out of his house, down the street, and a few blocks over.

The thermos was bone dry by the time Blaine actually started his people watching. Tucking the still-warm thermos under his arm, he pulled his hood tighter around his head, ducking down a little. A tall, slender figure caught the corner of his eye. From what he could see, they were dressed in a blue colored pea coat, incredibly tight jeans, and boots that stopped at the knee. _Kurt Hummel. _Blaine felt warm on the inside, and not because of the cocoa. Kurt left the complex, crossed the street (and dodged some cars), and walked out of Blaine's sight.

"_Where is he going? What is he doing? Does he live here? Or is he visiting someone?" _all of these questions raced through the curly haired boy's head. Then, he realized it was _Kurt Hummel_ he was thinking about. A boy he never really talked to and—a _boy_. Blaine was straight, there was no way he could ever be gay...right? He never felt any real connection to Quinn, none at all. He always thought it was just her. As Blaine argued with his thoughts, Kurt crossed the street again, holding a large cup of coffee and a huge stack of fashion magazines pressed to his chest. Blaine felt a lump in his throat as Kurt looked in his general direction of the bench where he was sitting. He slowly got up and walked quickly as he could home, leaving his thermos on the bench.

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><p>Pretty much every night after that, Blaine found himself at that bench, seeing what Kurt did that night. Most of the time, it was the same thing, a coffee and magazine of some sort. One night it was Chinese food, another groceries. But one night, Kurt didn't leave the complex. Blaine waited and waited, and suddenly, a blaring siren whizzed past his ear, heading into the complex. People walking along the sidewalk stopped, walking towards the complex. Blaine speed walked to the circle square, where a body on a gurney was already being loaded into the ambulance. Questions fluttered through the air like leaves in autumn.<p>

"NO!" a bloodcurdling scream. Kurt appeared, with messy hair and a white v-neck, his face soaked in tears. The EMTs held him back as he wailed louder. They eventually let him go, and he bolted back towards his apartment. Blaine made his way through the crowd to try and follow him, no matter how creepy that sounded. He reached the Hummel's apartment, the door slightly ajar. It was relatively clean, minus the crumpled carpet and broken vase, presumably from the EMTs. Blaine found Kurt's bedroom, with Kurt thrown on his bed, his back raising up and down slowly. His long legs dangled off the end, and his hair was even messier in the light. Blaine noticed the red thermos on the dresser, _his_ red thermos, which he figured that someone had picked it up after he ran away from the bench days ago. He just wanted to kneel on the bed next to Kurt and pull the sandy colored strands off of his forehead, maybe even cradle him, but he couldn't. They'd spoken what, 10 words to each other, tops? He stood near the bed for a while, thinking what he should do. Maybe he should take the thermos and leave? Yeah, that sounded good, and then Kurt wouldn't even know that he was here. He carefully took the thermos off of the wooden dresser and whipped around, stubbing his toe on the arch of the doorway.

"Fuck," he said, a little louder that he should've.

"What the hell?"

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><p><strong>Cliffhanger...I had to. <strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**This is the longest chapter I've written thus far! It moves pretty fast, and I don't want to keep you waiting. The song Blaine sings is _Superman_ by Moi, so just add the normal YouTube link to the front of /watch?v=N59bmpRHOA4 if you want to listen to it :)**

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><p>"I didn't mean to—I didn't want to—" the curly haired boy stammered, looking up a little bit to see Kurt rising from the bed, sheets rustling. His eyes were rimmed with tears and his hair was perfectly messy.<p>

"Do what?" Kurt asked as sternly as he could, his voice cracking.

"G-Get my thermos," Blaine replied weakly, looking down at the ground.

Kurt crossed his arms, "How do I know it's your thermos...and who are you anyways?"

Blaine's eyes stayed transfixed on the carpet. He hadn't exactly thought that through.

"I'm, um, Andrew, and I uh, left this on a bench outside and I uh—"

"How do you even know where I live?" Kurt asked, approaching him somewhat gently. It felt weird to respond to another name, but if he had said his name was Blaine, everything would be ruined.

"I followed you up here from the center square," he mumbled. Kurt's eyes filled with tears.

"C-Can you actually look at me when you talk?" he chirped, extending a hand to Blaine's face. He had been staring at Kurt's carpet for 99% of the conversation, so he slowly rose his head to it met Kurt's hand. The brown and blue eyes met, Blaine's heart skipped a beat or two, his hood falling off to expose the hobbit hair. Kurt's hand cupped his cheek, everything feeling right in the world.

"I-I need to clean," Kurt sighed, dropping his hand, the moment ending.

"I can help you," Blaine piped up. The blue eyes widened.

"Andrew, we just met."

"Doesn't bother me if it doesn't bother you."

Kurt wasn't used to being flirted with. He didn't really talk much to anyone, let alone _flirt_. But the more he talked to Bl-, er, _Andrew_, the more he liked him.

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><p>"Surely you can't stay here all by yourself," Blaine said, throwing a clean blanket over the back of the couch in the small living area.<p>

"I feel like I have to," Kurt replied, running his finger down the kitchen countertop.

"Stay with me," Blaine's words flew out of his mouth faster than they should have.

"W-What?"

"If you don't want to, you don't have to. I live like, two blocks away. I need some company, and you do, too."

Kurt pondered the thought. Staying alone in an apartment complex or staying at a stranger's house. Both seemed risky, but twenty minutes later, he was packing up skin care products, clothes, and his schoolbag, just for a week, to stay with this boy who was in the right place at the right time. This was the nicest Blaine was to anyone, and it felt good. When he was with Kurt, it felt like he was supposed to be with him opposed to Quinn. He carried most of Kurt's bags, Kurt rattling on about school and what things he was involved in.

"I'm actually in glee club," he said, playing with the strap on his bag as they walked.

"Oh, really?" Blaine seemed fascinated, "I take that as you sing?"

"And play piano," Kurt smiled, tilting his head to look at Blaine.

"Really? Me too!" Blaine exclaimed, looking right into those bright blue eyes. It wasn't a lie, he had played piano since age five, and his mother taught him everything he knew.

"For how long?" Kurt was fascinated.

"12 years I wanna say?"

"Since age three," he winked, the two turning a corner. Not too long after that, they reached the Anderson residence.

"Home sweet home," Blaine sighed, turning the doorknob and pushing the door inward.

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><p>Somehow, the two ended up watching a movie on Netflix in the huge, white living room. Kurt was curled up in Mr. Anderson's old, white chair while Blaine was on the couch, his hand drowning in the popcorn bowl.<p>

"I'd love to hear you play sometime," Kurt peeped from the chair. Blaine looked up from the TV.

"Pway whaft?" he replied, his mouth stuffed with popcorn.

"Piano!" he exclaimed, gesturing with his head in the direction of the black baby grand piano in the dining area. Blaine swallowed the mush in his mouth and sat up on the couch.

"Right now?" he smirked, getting up and grabbing Kurt's wrist, dragging him to the piano. Blaine flicked on a light in the room making it a little bit brighter, but romantically dark. The two boys sat on the piano bench, Blaine's fingers resting on the keys and Kurt's tangled in his own lap. Blaine played a few notes, the music sounding like twinkles from stars, if stars could make a noise. He then opened his mouth and began to sing.

"_On a sweet Sunday morning fourteen years ago  
>I was only fifteen<br>Now I'm reminiscing  
>I broke into a million pieces each piece a thousand creases<br>A memory in my heart looking up at the stars"_

Kurt let out a long breath as the boy next to him continued, his fingers flying over the keys so gracefully. He played beautifully.

"_Cause what goes up must come down  
>And what's coming down is coming down fast"<em>

Blaine didn't know why he picked this song. It just..._happened_. Quinn always liked this song when it came on the radio in her car, and she'd smile instantly. After so many times of hearing it, Blaine knew the words and notes down pat. He finished the song and turned to Kurt on the bench.

"Andrew," Kurt said, his voice cracking a bit. They faced each other on the bench, inches away from each other's faces. If Blaine wanted to, he could just lean forward and kiss him, which is what he had wanted to do since the homecoming dance, almost two months ago. His head spun, all he had to do was lean forward.

"Stop," Kurt said, their noses brushing against each other, their lips an inch or two apart.

"Whyyyyyyyyyyyyy," Blaine whined softly.

"W-We should wait. Just...I really want to kiss you but—"

"Then why don't we just get to it then?" the curly haired boy breathed, leaning again. Kurt pushed himself backwards, putting his hand firmly on Blaine's chest, and falling backwards onto the floor. One boy ended up on the floor, the other the edge of the bench.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," Blaine said, extending his hand for Kurt to take.

"No, no, no, I'm fine," Kurt said, "It's not a big deal. I fell off of a freaking _bench_, Andrew. Just a bench, not a cliff." He stood up, brushing the nonexistent dirt off of his pants. "I just want to go to bed. Alone."

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><p>Kurt's new bedroom was one of the many guest rooms in the Anderson household. They stopped outside of the door, a question pondering Blaine's thoughts.<p>

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure?"

Blaine sucked the inside of his cheek and figured out how he would form the sentence. "D-Do you think I'm...ugly?"

The blue eyes studied him for a moment. "I've seen worse." He swiftly opened the bedroom door and shut it, leaving Blaine in the hallway.

_I've seen worse_.

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><p><strong>Did this make sense at all? haha, Blaine is Andrew because he doesn't want Kurt to know who he really is just yet, and Andrew sounds close to Anderson. Next chapter'll be up any time next week, and I'll be on break, so I can update a lot.<strong>


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